


Thermonuclear

by prairiegod



Category: Hardcore Henry (2016), PAYDAY (Video Games)
Genre: Body Horror, Epic Revenge Quests, Gore, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-24 09:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30070482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prairiegod/pseuds/prairiegod
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**What happened.**

That was all he could repeat over and over, like a mantra.  **What the fuck just happened** . Where was he?  _ Who  _ was he?  _ What  _ was he? 

Looking down at his hands, feeling the adrenaline surging through his blood and the bullets lodged firmly into his shoulder reminded him. 

His name was  **Henry** . 

He was dead but wasn’t anymore, somehow. He was disfigured beyond belief to the point where he had to be patched together with metal and all different types of falsehoods- he was a cyborg. A supersoldier.

He  **killed** people. A lot of them. An important one too. 

His damaged eye cracked open and he winced, drops of tarry black oil leaking from his socket and a flash of static dancing across his vision. More memories hit him- he just did something big. He survived the literal impossible. He killed someone who was literally unkillable but lost… everything. His wife was fake, manipulating him the whole time and leading him into the fucked-up situations that nearly tore him apart. 

He was alone now. No voice, no signal. Just him, in a helicopter heading to god knows where. Fuck. He was exhausted- and bored. He didn’t know how long he had spent slumped against the wall, slowly draining blood and strength. All he wanted to do was sleep, but one corner of his empty mind begged him to take a step back and look at everything he did. 

He knew nothing about himself except that the concept of introspection appalled him. Forcing himself to look back at the carnage he caused sounded awful right now. As if he was going to look back at the things he was pretty much forced to do in order to survive. Introspection was something that people who had control of their actions did. 

What happened left him less than a shell. A lonely shell, so eager for love that a complete stranger told him that she loved him and he believed her. Estelle… even if he hadn’t done what he did he doubted that the relationship would have even existed. He looked down at his blood-soaked hands and the tarnishing brass ring adorning his finger. 

He pulled it off, throwing it to the corner of the helicopter. It bounced off the corner, rolling and coming to a stop near the lake of blood by the door. Another glint caught his eye by the dull piece of metal, like a shining island in a lake of dull sangria. Henry peeled himself off of the wall and crawled towards it, plucking the object from the viscera. 

Estelle’s gaudy wedding ring, adorned with glittering black diamonds and platinum. There was no way he would’ve been able to afford it without taking out enough loans to put him in debt for life. Just looking at the context clues instead of following Estelle around like a lovesick puppy probably would’ve queued him in to her true nature. Then he would’ve been able to know that Estelle never truly cared about him. She was entirely compliant with the torture Akan put him through. 

He was nothing but her little pet project. Nothing but a little beta test to be thrown at everything the two wanted gone. They probably would’ve been better off strapping a Go-Pro to a gorilla and releasing it into the streets. Maybe it was a little bit relieving, knowing that he was never truly married to such a monster. Or maybe it was sad- the only source of love in his life was nothing but a placebo. 

He decided to keep the ring anyway, tucking it into his pocket. He would find someone to sell it to and get a decent amount of money, then put it towards a new start. Leaving all of this behind was all he could do. If he survived once the helicopter landed, this day would be in the past. Everything would be just a memory- except for...Jimmy. 

Jimmy. The man who put all his cards on the table in order to help him in some wild goose chase to get his wife back and kill the man who ruined his life, only to lose everything in less than a day. He couldn’t help but miss him. It had been only a day but the man’s varying accents and off-key bits of advice had been in his ear since the moment he was separated from Estelle. He missed it. Everything was so silent all of a sudden. 

His chest hurt- not just from grief but from the gaping hole in his chest. Henry could tell that his condition was poor without looking at himself. He couldn’t bring himself to unzip his jacket and lay his eyes upon the gaping wound in his chest, to see the glowing conduit of nuclear power twitching right next to his heart. It didn’t quell his growing sense of self-loathing to know that he had a literal tube of curium keeping his heart beating and nothing else.

Henry slumped back onto the floor, feeling the vibrations rattling his head against the patterned steel floor. Some more tar from his damaged eye socket dripped down onto the floor, slow and languid like molasses- the worst and most fucked up molasses to ever exist. He felt so disgusting all of a sudden, acutely aware of every unpleasant sensation happening on and around his body. 

The blood he was soaked in itched. He could feel the thumping of his battery in his chest, an odd stuttering rhythm that probably would’ve meant death if his organic heart was the one pulling the strings. Just another duality in the strange machine that was his own body. He remembered what Jimmy said. “You are the man, Henry. There's very little actual man left, of course- A good night of sleep and you'd power an aircraft carrier.”

_ Very little actual man _ …those words stung. He wouldn’t lie to himself. The state he was in when he arrived- god, what the fuck happened to him. His hand subconsciously tapped against his jaw. _ the bottom half of his jaw was shred to pieces _ . He shuddered. The question bounced around the inside of his empty head like an old computer screen-saver. Who was he before this? 

Exhausted from just attempting to think straight, he drifted back into the state of emptiness he felt before, liquid ache spreading through his muscles like cold water through a pipe. His head slid against the wall, the cold metal sliding against his scalp. He wanted to go to sleep and wake up somewhere else. Somewhere he was loved, somewhere he was a whole person. 

_ “Henry… what are you working on?”  _

_ He looked up. A man, no- his dad- stood over his desk. Desk would be an unrealistic compliment. It was more like a piece of old plywood nailed to some cinderblocks and old beams. He reached over to turn off the soldering iron. His hands were small and lacked the serpentine tattoos or metal protrusion.  _

_ He nudged the small amalgam of old screws and findings in the shape of a robot towards his dad. The older man smiled broadly and patted him on the head.  _

_ “You’re really improving with the soldering iron, kiddo. Having fun with it?” _

_ He nodded. Maybe he was always this quiet, or maybe he didn’t even know what his voice sounded like anymore. Still, he beamed with pride at the compliment. It felt nice to be appreciated. He picked up his little robotic creation and turned it around in his hands, admiring the minimal blobs of soldering. His dad set a small coffee can of warped screws and old nails onto his little makeshift desk.  _

_ “Here, saved these for you. Just try not to get tetanus from the nails.” He got up from his stool and set the little robot on a shelf filled with others like it. A rough and work-calloused hand patted his shoulder and he clasped it. It was comforting.  _

The metaphorical scene faded into obscurity and reality slowly eked its way back in. Henry blinked and subsequently winced, dried blood flaking off of his face and artificial tar-blood smearing off of his cheek. As the blurry facade of sleep was pulled from his eyes small pinpricks of light shone through the small porthole window. The helicopter was low, and it was about to land. There was no time to process the memory that the back of his mind just regurgitated as panic started to set in.

He looked around the metal interior frantically for some form of self-defense. Estelle’s revolver sat inches from him and he somehow didn’t notice. It was small enough to be easily concealed, yet sat comfortably in his cold and weathered hands. 4 bullets still sat in the chamber. One was still lodged firmly in his chest and the other was deflected into Estelle’s shoulder. 

What he should expect upon landing, he didn’t know. All 24 or so hours of his life were nothing but a swirling void of uncertainty. Had Jimmy been here, he might’ve looked out for him and told him where to go. A call would come through warning him of the next step in Akan’s grand plan or Jimmy in one of his many incarnations would appear and prod him along in person.

The thud of the landing gear rattled his body. He shot upwards and clicked the hammer of the pistol, descending into the shadows. He couldn’t just rush out of the door like a bat out of hell. He stood crouched for seconds, then a minute, then 5 minutes. No one came, no one ripped the door off of its hinges and came grabbing at him. 

So, he left the helicopter; his stiff legs shook as he inched out of the helicopter and onto the concrete landing pad below. He fell to his knees and his breathing became shaky, the rhythm stuttering like the pulsing of his battery. All of the surplus adrenaline was gone from his body leaving his normal enzymes to pick up the pace. The bolts of soreness that shot through his muscles made him want to scream but that ability was one Akan neglected to give him. Maybe it was a wise idea- there were a lot of things he wanted to say to the man, none of them in the least bit pleasant. 

No one was around. Not a single soldier, no mercenary army hiding in the shadows. They must’ve all quit with their tails behind their legs, or they were simply picking up the pieces. He surveyed the area regardless, out of lingering paranoia and fast-formed instinct. 

The city below seemed so… vast and terrifying. It was like the depths of the ocean churning with the unknown. So full of life, all with the potential to be hostile. Seeing the authorities put a bullet through Jimmy’s head and knowing that Akan had everyone possible in his pockets, well- it was terrifying. It broke the last fragment of trust still floating in his head. He was on his own, a tiny organism standing before a maw made of steel and concrete, so vast and ready to pounce and swallow him any moment. 

He walked all along the perimeter of the desolate helipad, surveying for any exit to the surface level of the street. The city was alight with the noises of cars, sirens, and the occasional drunken shout. If he had to shoot someone, it probably wouldn’t even be heard. Along the second side of the building was a rickety fire escape drilled into the concrete. Its stability was dubious- deep green paint flaked off of its surface and it creaked like a weak and dying animal when a single foot was placed onto one of its steps. 

It admittedly felt nice to be cautious and take the journey step by agonizing step instead of vaulting off of the windowsills of the brutalist tower. The cold night air stung but at the same time it felt like an ice pack for his aching chest, his internal organs only separated from the outside world by a cheap nylon bomber jacket. He didn’t know what obstacles lay within the building but he was sure he wouldn’t survive it in his current state. 

He descended from the last ladder to the ground below. The alley was mostly devoid of trash but blocked from the street by a tall fence, covered in ripped tarps and topped with barbed wire. Great. No other way out. Before he was about to vault himself back up onto the ladder, the noise of a door swinging open made him turn his head like a hunting dog who heard a rabbit. An average-looking security guard locked eyes with him. Shit. 

He didn’t reach for his gun nor radio, only standing there with a face of utter shock and horror. He must’ve thought Henry to be a homeless man- or a zombie with the way he was crouched on the ground, breathing in a disjointed way that made him sound like some sort of sickly creature. Henry reached into his pocket and grasped the pistol, charging towards the guard and slamming it against his temple. 

The guard toppled to the floor like a sack of rocks. Henry crouched over him, inspecting him for signs of life. The man was still alive but would probably have a small concussion or at the very least a nasty bruise. Looking over him, his hand gravitated towards the holster on the man’s hip. He pocketed the entire pistol, tucking it in his waistband beneath his jacket. He moved to the other pockets on the guard’s uniform and took everything he could find. He didn’t know why- survival instinct, maybe. The urge to be human through ownership of menial possessions. 

He sifted through the man’s wallet and took every bank note, pocketed the dented Zippo lighter he had in his uniform pocket, even took the mostly empty packet of cigarettes. He couldn’t remember if he smoked- but fuck it, he did now. If Akan had the sense to replace all of his organs he probably replaced his lungs with stronger ones. He’d have one later once he was safer. The absence of a security guard would raise suspicion before long. He took the keyring and prodded the old tarp covering the fence aside, uncovering a chain lock. Stupid how simplistic this was- a pair of boltcutters and someone would be in without a hitch. 

Matching keys was hard with one eye closed tight. Drops of tar fell onto his shoe and he wiped them away with his sleeve. Nearly halfway through the keyring one tarnished-looking square key slipped into the lock and with a turn of his wrist, the lock and chain were free. He threw the keys behind him and wrenched the unused chain fence open, walking into the night. 

The gazes of the people on the street bore through him like a drill through wood. He increased his pace in an attempt to keep his body heat up and avoid some of the gazes unless the authorities got involved. 16 bullets wouldn’t be enough for the army that would surely show up in the wake of a blood-soaked man limping around the streets. He suddenly wished he had taken the security guard’s coat. His breath came out in small clouds like smoke and he got the itch in the back of his mind for a cigarette. 

The streets were flooded with people this time of night, bottles or cigarettes in hand, basking under the neon lights in their best outfits. Their eyes slowly followed Henry as he walked, not bothering with subtlety. He wished for some of their confidence all of a sudden. His hands started to rub at his arms to generate friction, only sending a small jolt of pain through his arm when his hand made contact with his organic forearm. He probably needed to change out his jacket. All the dried blood would probably start to stink or even cause an infection if he left it long enough. 

He was admittedly hesitant to let go of the piece of clothing. It was scuffed to hell and back and still had concrete dust worn into the fabric, but it was comfortable and the first thing he ever really owned- even if he did steal it from a skinny-dipper. He could get it dry-cleaned though. The silhouettes of mannequins with their chests puffed in pride and wearing sturdy-built winter wear suddenly drew his attention. He counted the bills sitting in his pocket, swallowed his intimidation, and entered the shop.

It only took half of his stack of money and a few minutes of looking through the racks to find a coat that fit him and added another layer against the outside world. The shop attendant approached him cautiously with a hand in a pocket but as soon as he flashed the stack clutched in his hand she backed off, still gazing at him from her spot at the register. He didn’t know how much money this was, but it must’ve been a lot- that security guard was a bit of an idiot to carry this much. Maybe he was going out into the alley to buy something from someone.

He stepped back out onto the concrete jungle, ripping the tag off his coat and transferring the inventory of his worn bomber jacket to the more spacious pockets, leaving the pistol in his waistband. He was pleasantly warmer, the new lightweight parka keeping the night’s chill out of his tired body. He plucked a cigarette from the half-collapsed packet and held it to his lips. The movements of lighting it came so naturally, and so did the sensation. It abstractly reminded him of old car upholstery, harsh sun, and old worn mechanic’s uniforms. 

It was comforting to have at least a fragment of his old life left, even if it was the worst vice to have. Well, no one was around to tell him otherwise. The few flashes of memories during the spontaneous removal of the memory blocker kept echoing in his head. It was a puzzle; palm trees, rock beaches, colorful buildings, sand meeting hot concrete. A home that seemed so far away. 

He averted his eye from the hot ember of the cigarette whenever he held it away to exhale the smoke. It reminded him too much of Akan’s almost reptilian eyes, so devoid of human emotion or empathy. He’d met very few people in the day he’d been alive but… he doubted he’d ever encounter someone like Akan ever again. And that was for the best. 

His organic hand subconsciously patted over the spot where his battery sat zippered under his jacket, its pulsing rhythm beating against his hand. He needed a break- needed to recharge. He didn’t want to imagine what would happen to him once his energy was drained without being able to replenish. With the old generation battery he could supposedly charge an aircraft carrier on a full night’s sleep. God only knew what he could accomplish with the newer one. 

He slumped down in a small alleyway away from prying eyes and obscured by patchy overgrown hedges. He wouldn’t be able to get a proper night’s rest but he could at least slow down and stop his battery from potentially overheating and irradiating several city blocks. He sat down against the wall, realizing that he’d probably been exacerbating his sprained muscles and just making his issues worse. 

His open eye slowly drooped, his grasp on the cigarette becoming limp. His head thumped against the brick wall. A small jolt of pain radiated through his scalp and his other hand brushed across the back of his head, feeling a few missing chunks of hair and a few forming scabs. God, he needed a shower. Or at the very least, a nice secluded fountain to throw himself into. Not now. He needed to wind down. 

The phone in his pocket buzzed, spooking him from his near-twilight state- he was surprised it was even still functional. The haptics still worked despite blood caked onto the screen and a spiderweb of cracks decorating the screen. An anonymous message from a cell number he didn’t recognize. The only choice was to open it, though. The name attached to the account was simply a garbled mess of numbers and letters, but at the same time it didn’t appear to be a telemarketer or the like. 

It was a simple audio file and text document, no comprehensive titles. His fingers shook as he pressed the play button, holding the phone’s speakers up to his ear. A familiar voice greeted him. One that was impossible. 

_ Well, if you’re reading this, I’m probably six feet under- but I expected it. No matter how many failsafes you put in place, you can’t outrun fate. I’m okay with it though. It’s been a good run. I’ve set up this message to be broadcasted once Akan’s wikipedia status is changed to deceased. And that obviously means that you succeeded.  _

_ To the winner goes the spoils. Everything I have goes to you. Coordinates to the cache are attached. Don’t worry if others show up- they’re just some old friends. They won’t hurt you if you don’t hurt them.  _

_ Everything I have is hopefully more than enough to give yourself a comfortable new life- and maybe buy your wife something nice too.  _

_ All of my accounts, documents, and possessions are hereby yours unless otherwise stated, but all of those have already been sorted. All I ask is that you put my research to something good that all of humanity can benefit from. I’m sorry for my selfishness. For dragging you into this.  _

_ Henry- it may have only been a day but… you’re one of the best people I’ve ever gotten the pleasure to meet. If circumstances may have been different, well. I just wish I had more time to get to know you more, and help you get to know yourself again.  _

_ I hope I can make it up to you even after I’m gone.  _

_ Regards, Jimmy.  _

He started crying. If only he could tell him everything he had done was in vain. All for a fake wife and a test that would improve a legion of soldiers. All of this was more of a sense of symbiosis, a chance encounter- but somehow, Jimmy considered him a friend. He didn’t make it to the endgame. He never got to see his progress come to fruition. Still, he knew somehow. He couldn’t imagine knowing that he was going to die before he reached his goal. 

Maybe it was possible that Jimmy knew- small wheezes were heard during breaks in sentences, the kind that came from the stages of pre-pneumonia. A state that he somehow didn’t realize the original chair-ridden Jimmy was in. Either that or he was good at hiding it. Just the thought made the tears continue to fall. Living with your body slowly breaking down, collapsing in on itself like a dying star… Jimmy was strong. Racing against his own inevitable mortality despite the countless copies of his bodies living life. He was still a shell. 

He knew what he needed to do now- he needed to survive. No matter the costs, he needed to live. For Jimmy. For his friend. He needed to finish everything he started, bring Akan to his knees and make him roll in his grave for years to come. He needed to drain the ocean to its last drop. He needed to burn every fortress Akan set foot in, he needed to make sure the mercenaries and protectors of that monster were reduced to less than dust. 

He had a purpose now. One that he set for himself, one that his creators foolishly made him good at:  **Revenge** .

His fists clenched around the phone hard enough to make a small triangle of glass chip off of the screen. He wiped the drops of electronic tar and tears off of the shattered glass, searching the coordinates. He got up and dusted himself off, lighting another cigarette and wiping away the accumulation of ocular secretions. He had a long journey ahead of him. 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

It was silent. The kind of silence that came with layers of old snowfall and the vastness of close evergreen-entangled valleys. Of course, living 15 minutes away from any symptom of commercialization such as gas stations or shops assisted that. Neighbors were equally as far- the closest ones had yet to be encountered, if there even were any. 

Wolf was fine with that. He considered his neighbors the birds attracted by the many different feeders strung around- assorted doves, hoopoes, woodpeckers, corvids of all sorts, warblers, and occasionally capercaillies if enough food fell to the ground. He tolerated the hares and moose that came to raid the feeders during the spring thaw, they needed all the energy they could get. 

It was delightfully quiet, a little paradise alight with the noise of the forest and absent from the noise of an industrialized world. A fair tradeoff from the high-octane lifestyle he once held. Wolf liked silence. But sometimes his friends would win him over and he would emerge from his den to tag along on ‘high-society bullshit’. 

He preferred to host at his own personal dwelling, maybe have a few drinks or just catch up. People came to him when they wanted to get away from things, and Hoxton did exactly that. A complaint about a heatwave turned into a spur-of-the-moment plane ride and long overdue visit. A simple day’s visit turned into a week spent staying over, slowly draining the liquor cabinet. But… Wolf didn’t mind. He welcomed the company. He could always buy more. He was just glad his friend was out of the heat. 

The British man was sprawled out on the couch, a rocks glass still clutched in his hand and a bottle of single malt laying half-empty on the hardwood floor. 

Wolf was perched on the other side of the couch. An outdated edition of a mechanic’s magazine was clutched in his hands. It was his perfect idea of a quiet night in. No more fixing shitty drills, no more paranoia over when the safehouse would be raided. He had the rest of his life to relax in his own little secluded paradise- his “den”, as he put it. All clean and modern surfaces, no gunpowder residue or cardboard boxes to be seen. 

The glass coffee table vibrated, drawing Wolf’s attention from his reading. His phone screen lit up with a notification. 

“Why do you have email notifications on? You only ever get emails on the burner account.” Hoxton slurred from his side of the couch, dropping the glass onto the wooden side table with a small clink. 

Wolf’s “burner” was just a civilian email account attached to a few dead links, only kept afloat through a bookmark on his browser. It was his equivalent of a hidden emergency bulletin board, essentially. Occasional communications or important confidential pieces of information got dropped here, although its use dwindled over time. 

There just wasn’t much in the way of emergencies anymore. Joy arranged a proper groupchat once they all went their separate ways that got used way more, constantly being filled with pictures of the animals Sydney cared for or familiar petty arguments over things like oyster prices at restaurants, or bragging about personal achievements. 

“Just in case Bodhi knocks himself into another coma or someone gets arrested, urgent things. Hold on- wait- It’s from Jimmy. It’s just a PDF. Odd... ” Wolf’s usually stoic face reflected the suspicion and concern he felt upon seeing the message. He’d admittedly gone soft. 

“Shit, Jimmy? Haven’t heard from him since the Medic Boat’s christening… wait. This is really fucking suspicious- the man just pops up out of the blue after a whole bloody year and all he does is drop a file?”

The man slumped over the arm of the couch was suddenly stone-cold sober. Over half a decade since his internment and subsequent breakout, yet the paranoia surrounding anything possibly involving discovery was still carried strongly in Hoxton’s psyche. He bristled at the very thought of something coming up and wrecking the comfortable life he had made. 

“Hox, relax. It’s just a file. He’s probably high out of his mind and accidentally sent it. It’s probably some dumb copypasta- here, I’ll read it.”

Wolf opened the file, eyes scanning the first few lines of text and quietly mumbling the words as he saw them. 

“ _Well, if you’re reading this, I am no longer alive. I have composed this file to be sent in the event of Akan’s death and therefore, my own. Don’t worry- I died fulfilled. I’m sending you this message as your personal section in my last will and testament, and to say goodbye. Coordinates and security details are attached at the end of the document._ ”

Wolf’s eyes grew as wide as saucers. The hand that rested on the leather armrest of the sofa clenched, fingernails digging into the upholstery.

“Holy fuck. Jimmy… Jimmy’s dead. Jimmy is fucking dead, Hox.” 

Hoxton’s stomach dropped. It was the same feeling when he learned of Bodhi’s brief coma after an accident during skydiving, Locke’s brief cancer scare, Sydney’s brownsnake bite that left her hospitalized, or the news of Scarface’s brief disappearance during his crocodile hunting trip. But… all of them either had the potential to come back or were already back in action. 

“This… has to be a prank. Jimmy isn’t usually this coherent, right? This has to be in poor taste.” Hoxton laughed nervously, a quirk left from his days negotiating and bargaining his way out of physically unwinnable situations.

“No… this is real. No one fucking survives Akan and even if someone managed to take him down, his mercenaries would make them a stain on the pavement.” 

Several more email notifications vibrated Wolf’s phone, surprising him and causing him to fumble with the device.

“Looks like he already sent it to everyone else.”

Wolf’s inbox was suddenly filled with emails full of questions and pleading, some already appearing to accept the absence of the reclusive gang member. As he read, he could practically imagine the anguish in his friend’s voices or the stages of grief starting to churn in their minds. He could already feel himself internally starting the denial phase. Another funeral without a body was the last thing anyone wanted- or multiple bodies, given Jimmy’s nature. 

All the life in the room felt as if it was sucked out. The birdsong outside seemed so deafening with the lack of unregulated breaths and ambient shuffling. Hoxton moved his hand, rapping his knuckles against the wooden table just to make sure that he hadn’t gone deaf. 

The noise didn’t rouse Wolf’s usually sharp senses. His focus remained on the phone screen, now clicked off and pitch black. Shock was all Hoxton could describe it as. Jimmy and Wolf were good friends- two good, mentally unhinged friends who could take on a SWAT team if they worked together. His hand patted the Swede’s shoulder. Wolf clasped the hand gently, accepting the small gesture of comfort. He blinked back some of the tears forming in the corner of his eyes. 

“I’m gonna go pack and… just-” Wolf sighed deeply. “I just need to think about this.”

Hoxton watched his friend leave, head hung and posture limp like a kicked dog. He didn’t like seeing people like this. Well, he enjoyed misery on certain people; he certainly wasn’t unfamiliar with the concept of schadenfreude- but seeing his best friend in this state was like a kick in the teeth. 

The lack of the constant weight on the couch beside him felt so alien, so unnatural. It wasn’t even his house, wasn’t even his couch. He’d only been here a week, and maybe a handful of day’s visits before that. But it felt like an extension of his own home now. Wolf had shared his little paradise with him- but now it was shattered. Like a bullet through an aquarium’s thick glass. 

His own phone felt heavy in his pocket. He thought he’d left it on the kitchen counter. His fingers instinctively typed out Dallas’s number. He sat waiting for the call to pick up, clearing his throat just as the call went through. 

\---------------------------------------

The screams of gulls and creaking of waterlogged wood echoed behind Dallas, a discordant backing track for what was about to come.

“Already docked, Nathan?” The phone seemed so heavy in his hands- the newest smartphone, feeling as if it was a brick held to his ear. He was exhausted. Dallas wasn’t _supposed_ to be exhausted, he was retired. He was supposed to be spry and full of energy, the perfect example of a bachelor with endless pockets. 

“Yeah, was just in the middle of a port stop.” 

“How are you holding up?” He wanted to lie through his teeth and be over with this, but he just couldn’t bring himself to. Hoxton knew about these things, knew what others were feeling just from the sound of their voices. The man could smell fear, sorrow, anger, and lies like a shark could sense a minuscule drop of blood in the vastness of the ocean. 

“I’m...well. It’s just...bringing up old wounds. Reminds me of Bain. I know it’s been two years but it still hits me sometimes. I’m just worried about Sydney, the two were basically attached at the hip. Two fucked up peas in a pod as Wolf put it.”

“Yeah, poor Kelli. I hope Rochelle can keep her from doing something drastic. But- I called you because you’re still the de-facto team leader. Did Jimmy send you anything? Any funeral plans?”

“No, I’m still just in the dark as you are. Kelli didn’t get anything either. Does he even want involved? We know nothing about him, no family, not even a real name, no aliases either. He was just… Jimmy.”

“He mentioned something about ‘soaking his carcass in napalm and launching him through Akan headquarters’ but that obviously had to be a joke. Maybe. As you said, he’s Jimmy. Strange bloke.” 

The more he talked, the more Dallas’s stomach sank. It was the knife’s edge between winter and spring- it was supposed to be a time of rebirth. But he was already burying another friend. Bain’s own vigil still rang fresh in his mind, despite the two-year span of time. Hard to believe it had already been that long. He was never as close to Jimmy as he was when it came to other members. 

Still, he was a valuable member of the team. His spontaneity was welcome during the monotonous spot the gang was stuck in during the time he joined and he was one of the few that kept spirits high no matter the situation. He kept the gang on the good side of lots of illicit producers and not to mention the utter payload that came with his efforts against Akan.

There was distance, of course. He and Jimmy clashed more than he liked to admit. The kind of instability that came with him wasn’t always welcome, nor was the incident where he showed his body-hopping nature- the nightmares of the man shooting himself in the head took a month to dissipate. 

“I’m gonna hang up. You and Wolf hang in there.”

Once he lifted the phone from his ear, he was met with an uneasy kind of quietness. The wharf was eerily silent- no birds, no people. It was as if the world knew what happened and was trying to set the mood. The sky above was suddenly swirling with dark clouds and a few scattered drops started to make contact with the ground. Rain was one of the last things he needed right now. 


End file.
